The Freeman and the Slave
by xpenemue
Summary: Warning: This work contains unsettling depictions of slavery. Inspired by Skyrim The hobbits, being the weak and simple-minded creatures they are, driven by peace and hope, are taken prisoner by the dwarves to work as slaves. Bilbo Baggins doesn't remember the light or feel of the sun. Bofur can't stand the injustice happening to the gentle creatures. (Boffins)
1. Chapter 1

He could feel the metal binds digging into his wrists and ankles. The shallow wounds running across his chest stinging mercilessly. His breath was bated as he gasped in the frozen air that made his lungs ache and burn. His pain was immeasurable, and his entire body felt leaden from the paralysis poison they had used on him. It was difficult for him, for anyone who was ever brought to these chambers, to fully comprehend what was going through his torturers' minds whenever they ran their blades across his chest.

It was routine for them, dragging slaves away from their work and teaching them a lesson, claiming they'd been slow, lacking. Claiming that this slave deserved punishment because they were stealing from one of the many masters they served. In reality, the torturers were bored.

They seemed to go by many names among the slaves. Torturer, Master, King. But of these names, one rang out from the rest. Dwarf. The broad creatures watched as the hobbits worked and punished those who didn't do well enough by their standards. No one who worked remembered how it had started, or what the warm afternoon sun felt like on their skin. The dwarves wouldn't let them.

The day they'd taken him away, he'd done nothing different than the other days. He simply worked as he always did. It was perhaps the most difficult position, the kitchens. While he cleaned, he was constantly surrounded by the glorious scents of food. The dwarves never fed the slaves properly, and thus, his job in the kitchens was a torture in and of itself. There was one dwarf who worked there that slipped him food every now and then, the fat, red-haired chef with the looping beard. The guards, when they passed through, must have either noticed the missing food or noticed how he was actually a little content with his position, for they hauled him away and to the torture rooms.

That was a week ago, when they'd brought him, and they hadn't let him leave. They'd given him some food, a small slice of stale bread riddled with mold, every three days, water every two. He had no room to complain because now his meals had become regular, and he didn't have to fight against ten other hungry slaves for it.

In the pens, or what the dwarves called the pens, it was every hobbit for himself. They couldn't afford to be weak. They couldn't afford to be merciful. If they wanted to eat, they had to fight. If they wanted anything, they had to fight.

He let his head fall back against the restraint and closed his eyes. It felt like ages he'd been in there. Centuries upon centuries of the dwarves trying out a new poison and laughing at how he'd gasp and writhe when the freshly-coated blade pressed and sizzled against his skin.

It was no wonder the hobbit slaves hated their masters. However, fear is stronger than hate, and while hate may lead to rising up, their fear kept them in submission. And submit they did.

He'd flinched when the heavy metal door to the room was opened and then quickly closed. He'd heard two pairs of heavy boots make their way across the room slowly, to the other slave in there with him. There was no sound for a moment before the footsteps approached him, and he felt two fingers against his neck.

_Are the guards checking if we are still alive? Why are they being so quiet?_ He wondered before hearing a clicking sound coming from the bindings on his wrists. His heart began to race, and his eyes flew open. He looked wildly around himself, the paralysis wearing off by now.

Picking at his cuffs was a dwarf with reddish brown hair and braids that came up from his eyebrows, while the one that stood over him had an odd looking hat and the kindest eyes he had ever seen. The kind dwarf gave him a kind smile.

"You're going to be alright."

He flinched again. The last time he'd heard those words were from an elder slave as his father was hauled off for the torture rooms a few days after his mother had passed. He'd been so young. He hadn't seen his father after that, and he knew he never would. The wrist bindings had come unlocked and the picked dwarf moved to the ones around his ankles, as the kind one removed his wrist bindings.

There was a clatter and shout from outside the doors, and the kind dwarf looked to the other with a worried expression.

"Nori!" He hissed, urging the other to go faster. Somehow, the picking hands quickened from their already fast pace, and that lock came undone as well. The dwarves helped him up, with careful eyes on the doors.

"Come on now, lad. We're going to get you free."

He hoped that was a promise to be kept and not broken.

The dwarves raced down the hall, one with a solid grasp on him, so he could not be lost in their dash to escape. They ran through the halls and through the crowds, in hopes to lose their pursuers.

They'd gotten closer and closer to the hidden sanctuary, and the dwarves hadn't even known it. When they passed the hall, he ducked into it, pulling the two dwarves with him. The others would see it as blasphemy, leading a dwarf, and two at that, into the sacred temple his people had built with their own hands, but at the moment, they had no better choice. He pulled the dwarves toward the door, urging them with him silently, and thankfully, they came willingly. He brought them to the hidden door, and opened it, shifting the wall so it no longer stood in their path, before gesturing for the dwarves to enter in front of him. The one with the braided eyebrows shrugged and entered, the kind one followed after him, and he slipped in last, closing the door back behind him.

"Where are we going?" The braided dwarf asked him, but he didn't answer, putting a finger to his mouth instead. He looked around the dwarf and saw what he was looking for.

In all of its unadulterated glory, the shrine to Yavanna stood before him. Somehow, some brave slave had journeyed here and built this, but it had been around as long as he could remember. His mother used to take him here whenever she could, and she would tell him of there old home, the one Yavanna would protect. Many had lost faith after their enslavement, but never his mother. The dwarves turned and looked.

"Isn't that... Yavanna?" The braided dwarf gasped.

"Aye. Seems someone kept faith, even after She was outlawed." The kind one took a few steps forward into the temple. "Is there a way out from here?"

He nodded and pointed up.


	2. Chapter 2

The kind dwarf turned his gaze up, though it was common knowledge that dwarves had poor eyesight. He knew the dwarf wouldn't see it, so, as was right between freeman and slave, though they were rescuing him and he couldn't think of himself like that anymore, he took it upon himself to step forward and reach the exit for them.

In all the times she'd taken him here, he'd seen the small opening in the ceiling of the cavern, and he had asked her why it was there, and why no one ever used it. She'd grinned and ran her hand through his hair.

"It was not created for escape, my dove, but as a pathway for the Green Lady's conduit. When it is time to be free, She will come and reward the faithful."

Five months after that, his mother had 'gotten out of line' and had been punished with a series of lashings. He still couldn't handle it when he thought about her and how she spent her last days in intense pain. She was always faithful in her belief pf Yavanna, and though she'd been in pain, she had smiled and told him stories of Yavanna's grace and warmth.

The dwarves had killed her because of her unwavering faith, but in their turn, had strengthened it.

He decided not to tell his rescuers this or anything about his life. He'd been forced to have that past, and now he could have a new life regardless.

He wasn't really one of the faithful, not after his mother, but now that he saw the statue, he could only think of it as a freedom and not a condemnation as he had before. He began, starting at its base, to climb it. The opening could be reached at where her hands touched, and he simply hoped it wouldn't be too smooth to climb.

They began hearing muffled shouting, and he tried to climb a little faster, as fast as thecuts in his chest would allow him to. It was a race against time, he knew that, and being caught meant death for all three, as was the punishment for aiding a slave's escape. The dwarves undoubtedly knew that, and they either had a death wish or they genuinely wanted to get him free.

It was mostly the former.

When he reached the top, he steadied himself on Yavanna's hand and reached for the opening. He was too short, even when he rose himself on his toes.

"Here." He heard from beside him. He settled back down and looked over. The kind dwarf. "Get on my shoulders."

He nodded and did as instructed, letting the dwarf boost him up. When he was steady on the dwarf's shoulders, he reached and grinned when he could fully grip the ledge and heft himself up.

When he was up, he turned back holding his hand out for the dwarf. In turn, the dwarf looked surprised. No doubt he thought he would leave once he got so close to freedom. He'd thought about it, but he owed them so much. The kind dwarf took his hand, and he pulled, trying with everything inside of him to get the dwarf up.

It took time, valuable time he didn't feel they had, but the kind dwarf soon joined him on the ledge.

"Come on, Nori!" The dwarf reached out for the braided one, who was at Yavanna's wrist. The braided dwarf climbed a little faster then, reaching for the kind one.

"Halt!" Bellowed a voice from below, and when he looked, he saw a strong dwarf, covered in tattoos, with a bald head. The braided dwarf looked back, and the kind dwarf lunged forward, grabbing the other's forearm, heaving him up.

"Sorry, Dwalin!" The braided one shouted. "You'll have to find someone else to chase!" They backed away from the ledge, just as a small axe was thrown up and buried itself into the braided dwarf's arm.

"Fuck!" The dwarf hissed, ripping it out of his arm and tearing away some of his shirt for a bandage, wrapping it hastily, before he pulled them away.

After they'd gone a ways down the cavern, the kind dwarf smiled at him.

"I'm Bofur. 'E's Nori. What do they call you?"

He looked over the dwarf curiously.

"No laws, little guy," Nori said, "you can talk to us." He stopped.

They'd already broken so many laws, what was another? If they ever returned to Erebor, they would probably be killed on sight.

"I only have my name for the Calling." He said, and the dwarves nodded.

"We'll call ye that, then." Bofur said.

"It is not to be shared on the mortal plane."

Nori and Bofur glanced at each other for a moment, Nori with his lips pursed.

"What about the name your mother gave you? Surely she called you something."

He shook his head. "I don't think 'little dove' is a suitable name." The dwarves shrugged.

After a few moments, Nori spoke up again. "Then we'll name you." He had no complaints and nodded. "Bofur, you know Ori. Well, I remember this one time he was reading this book. Surprising, I know, and it was one of those rare fictional ones, a pain in the arse to acquire, there was this character. Ori really liked him, didn't stop talking about him. I say we name our halfling after him."

And what's 'is name?"

"Bilbo. Is that a good name, Ûrzudith?" Nori grinned at him, and he raised his head.

Bilbo... He tested it and grinned. He liked it. It was a good name. A free name.

"Bilbo, then." He said. "It is nice to meet you, Bofur, Nori. My name is Bilbo." He grinned. "What was it you called me?"

Nori raised a brow. "I forgot, halflings aren't allowed to learn Khuzdul. Ûrzudith. It means little you mind it?"

Bilbo smiled. "Two names? I don't mind at all."

Bofur laughed. "Not ta overwhelm ye er anythin'."

The tunnel that they passed through led up to a lake, and Bofur and Nori grinned. Nori whistled.

"Well, would you look at that." He said, and Bilbo looked over curiously. "If it isn't the grey waters of Esgaroth. Nori looked to Bofur. "We should stop here. My arm's hurting like a mother, and I'm sure Ûrzudith isn't feeling so great with those chest cuts." Bofur nodded.

"Here is good. Dwalin won't be chasin' us this far from the Mountain."

Nori and Bilbo sat together on the ground, it wasn't hard, the grass was actually very soft against Bilbo's legs. He squinted against the light of the sun and saw how the two dwarves seemed to be different in the sunlight rather than in the torch light.

Bofur took some water from the lake and ran it over the wounds, after removing Nori's hasty bandages, and before replacing them with new ones that he wound slowly and carefully. He then moved to Bilbo's long but shallow cuts. Looking over them, he shook his head.

"They'll be just fine without bandages." Bofur said. "Just need to wash out th' rest of whatever was on th' knife they used, and ye're good. Just need a shirt, I'd say."

Nori nodded. "But is he more your size or mine. That's the question of the hour." The dwarves looked at themselves and each other. Nori smirked.

"Looks like you've got too much of a gut, Bofur." He teased as he took off his tunic.

"You've seen Bom. It's considered attractive to have a good appetite. You remember the amount of girls fawning over him back when he turned 70."

"70? That's fairly old to marry..." Bilbo commented, taking Nori's tunic. Bofur shook his head.

"Not fer a dwarf, though. We come of age then." He said, nodding and glancing east. "Don't think I've ever seen a rising sun look so bright."

"Must be the light of freedom." Nori said, turning to shove Bilbo a little with his good arm. In turn, Bilbo grinned. He felt new and whole.

"Must be."


End file.
